


Babe, Can I Call?

by usuallysunny



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Angst, Confessions, Five Times, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, North Dakota, Phone Sex, post s12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-04 19:36:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17310566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usuallysunny/pseuds/usuallysunny
Summary: Five times Mac calls Dennis in North Dakota - and the one time Dennis calls him.





	Babe, Can I Call?

The first time Mac calls Dennis, he’s shit-faced.

He picks up on the fourth ring, voice groggy from sleep and surprise and that cutting tone of irritation so uniquely _Dennis._

“ _What?_ ”

Mac swallows, cursing under his breath as he practically falls through the door and bumps into the frame. Fuck, he’s blasted.

“Hey, man” is all he can think to say as he slams the door shut and throws his keys somewhere he won’t be able to find tomorrow.

There’s a beat and he listens to the sound of Dennis’ steady breathing as he kicks off his boots.

“It’s 4 in the morning, asshole. What do you want?”

He stumbles into his room, holding the phone in the crook between his cheek and neck as he clumsily pulls off his clothes. He’s doing so well, is damn proud of himself, until his jeans tangle around his ankles and he falls backwards onto the bed.

The phone lands next to him and he closes his eyes for a moment, blocking out Dennis’ impatient, muffled snaps of _“Mac!”_ and _“goddamn it”_ and the dozens of other curses he spits like venom.

He picks the phone up again.

“The room’s spinning.”

“I don’t _give_ a shit.” Dennis’ reply is part exasperation, part outrage.

Mac’s eyes open and he stares at the ceiling. Why had he called him again? They’d been drinking, as usual – him, Charlie and Dee. With Frank preoccupied, probably banging Artemis in the dumpster out back, it was just like old times.

Except it wasn’t, with the biggest part of them gone.

It was the reminiscing; it must have been. They’d been talking about the past, laughing about all the terrible, failed schemes they’d come up with over the years. Images had flashed before Mac’s eyes like a kaleidoscope of memories and for a minute, Dennis was all he could see.

But then again, Dennis was all he could ever really see.

He realises he hasn’t spoken for a minute.

“You’ve been gone for 23 days.” He feels the need to tell him.

“You counted? You are such a loser.” Mac can just see him quirking his brow, smirking along with it – there’s nothing he loves more than having his ego stroked.

 _God_ , he’s a son of a bitch.

Mac pouts, his brows drawing into a frown. The words cut deeper than he’d like – because he thought he’d been doing well. He’d been proud of himself, proud that he’d lasted 23 days without calling him, and it causes a weird stirring in the pit of his belly to be mocked for it. 

“How’s Brian Jr?” He asks, trying to change the subject as he rubs a tired hand over his face.

There’s no reply.

“Dennis?”

Finally, a sigh. “He’s fine. Cries a lot, shits a lot. That’s about it. What do you care?”

“Of course I care, dude.” Mac’s brows draw into a frown again. “And Maggie?”

“Mandy.”

“Ah, shit.” He hiccups slightly as the world rights itself. Sliding under the covers, his grip tightens around the phone. “Sorry. How’s Mandy?”

Dennis sniffs conceitedly. “Totally in love with me obviously. Tries to bang me every night but as I keep telling her, I’m only here for Brian Jr. She can’t be blamed though, she’s only human. And North Dakota trash, nonetheless.” 

The nastiness lining his tone - and the fact he’s pretty sure all of that is complete bullshit - has Mac’s eyebrow travelling to his hairline.

“That’s the mother of your kid, dude…”

“Okay, did you call just to give me shit?” Dennis snaps, patience clearly wearing thin, “What the fuck do you want?”

Mac swallows, nervous and more insecure than he’s been since he finally came to terms with who he is. “I don’t know. The place just feels real empty without you, bro.”

He adds the _bro_ so he knows he’s just being casual and friendly and totally, completely _not gay._

“You’re drunk.” Dennis says, and it’s not a question.

“Yeah, drunk as shit.” Mac replies casually, nodding as though he can see him. “Sometimes I just feel…” He sighs dramatically and flings the back of his hand over his forehead, much like he did that time in the therapist’s office, “…like you don’t even know me and we’re not even that good of friends.”

“That was random.” Dennis says flatly. “What would you like me to do with that information?”

“I dunno.” Mac drawls, inhaling on a hiccup. “It’s just like… you just _left,_ dude. You were there and then you weren’t and I just don’t get it.”

“I have a son now, Mac.” He says clearly, voice quieter than before. “I’m not 25 anymore. I have responsibilities. I’ve matured.”

“You’ve known them for a second.” Mac says like a petulant child and jealousy kicks at his stomach like a mule. “A moment. You’ve _always_ known me.”

He’s so drunk, the room begins to spin again and the bed smells like Dennis, even though it hasn’t been his for months and he’s washed the sheets since he left.

He’d probably freak out knowing he’s in there anyway, probably expects him to still sleep next to the dildo bike. Leave his bed, his room, as a shrine to him. Mac won’t admit – to him or himself – that he wants to sleep here so he can feel the ghost of him, still lingering in the sheets.

Suddenly, inexplicably, Mac begins to panic. The impossible trace of Dennis’ cologne layers over the sheets and makes him nauseous. His name rings in every heavy echo of his heart. Every single beat is his name.

He could be alone for years, Mac suddenly realises in horror. Decades. The rest of his long life, without him. Time abruptly gapes open, a yawning chasm, and he finds himself gripping the sheets like he’s at risk of falling away, vanishing into the dark.

Panic blisters his stomach and Dennis’ name drums faster.

He’s leaving him; he’s left him. He’s not coming back.

“Dennis.” He says his name like a prayer, searching for a warmth he can’t find.

How could he leave him behind, here, in this place, alone?

“What?”

Mac closes his eyes against his harsh tone.

“I’m fucked.” He says simply – and he’s not talking about how drunk he is.

Dennis laughs through the phone, but there’s little humour in it. “Go to sleep, Mac.”

“Don’t you want to know how Dee is? Charlie, Frank?” He blurts out, trying to keep the conversation going, desperate for any scraps of his attention. Some things never change.

“No.”

“You don’t?”

“No.” Dennis repeats coldly. “I do not. I don’t care.”

“You care, Dennis.” Mac drawls tiredly, his eyes fluttering shut. “You pretend to be this cold asshole… but you’ve always cared. Maybe more than the rest of us put together.”

There’s silence on the other end and Mac doesn’t mind. He listens to Dennis’ breaths, counting each one, like an addict desperate for his next fix. Words burn in his chest but it isn’t right to say them. 

“I’ll talk to you soon, Mac.” Dennis says with a tone of finality, curt and displeased. Mac doesn’t like it, has always hated disappointing him. He breathes heavily down the phone, sleep threatening to overcome him.

Eventually, he whispers something he won’t remember in the morning.

“I miss you.”

He’s asleep before he hears Dennis’ reply.

“Goodnight, Mac.” 

 

 

The second time Mac calls Dennis, it’s his birthday.

He’s been gone three months now and Mac feels his absence like a punch in the gut, a weight pressing down on his chest and stealing his breath.

The Gang throw him a party, a surprising act of benevolence without an ulterior motive. It’s fun and light and carefree and when he gets home and finds a package from North Dakota on his doorstep, he feels happy and complete for the first time in months.

Dennis’ gift is obviously bullshit – size pills and a note simply signed “Dennis” – but it makes him break out into a delirious smile.

He cracks open a beer, sits at the kitchen table and unlocks his phone.  

Dennis picks up on the fourth ring.

“Hey.”

Hearing his voice pathetically stokes Mac’s happiness. “Hey, I just got your gift. Thanks, man.”

Dennis snorts a laugh. “Yeah well, I assumed you’re getting skinny as shit in my absence. Thought I’d give you a helping hand.”

Mac leans back, taking a swig of his beer. His shirt rides up, ironically displaying his impressive stomach muscles, and he scratches at the skin absentmindedly.

“Actually…” He starts, “I’m super jacked now, bro. Like, you don’t even know.”

“No, I don’t know.” Dennis replies dryly.

“Yeah, I got into really good shape. We’re trying to work out how we can use it.”

“Use it?”

“Yeah, like for the bar.” Mac says like it’s obvious. _Why does no-one understand this?_ “So I don’t need the pills to make me more bigger.”

“Well, you should take them anyway.” Dennis says, probably trying to keep charge of the situation. He’s ruled over him for most of his adult life and it seems he has no intention of changing that, even thousands of miles away. “Everyone knows you only work out your glamour muscles.”

“That’s bullshit!” Mac explodes in characteristically random anger. “That’s bullshit! I’m fit as fuck now, dude! I would destroy your ass!”

“You would destroy my ass?”

“Not what I meant.” Mac grumbles. “I just mean you wouldn’t stand a chance in a push up contest now.”

“Even if you _are_ jacked…” Mac’s not sure whether Dennis actually doesn’t believe him or whether he’s just playing with him as usual, “…your form is probably still shit. I’d definitely win.”

“You’re an asshole.” Mac says, taking a sip of beer. He puts it down and picks absentmindedly at the sticker.

“What did the others get you?” Dennis asks, by way of a reply.

“Charlie just got me a card… he made it himself… he drew cats on it and spelt my name wrong. Frank got me an empty box and laughed when I opened it, but he did pay for the balloons and cake and shit, so it’s cool. Dee didn’t get me anything. I hate Dee. She’s a goddamn bitch.”

Dennis’ laugh sounds more like a bark in Mac’s ears. This is comfortable; this is something they can agree on. Ganging up on Dee has always been a thread, tying them together.

“Yeah.” He chuckles. “She’s annoying as shit.”

“And she looks like a bird.”

Dennis laughs again, delighted. The sound quirks the corners of Mac’s mouth into a smile. Those laughs are so rare, so hard to coax out now that his manic episodes are more like seasons, and each one breathes fresh life into him.

Speaking of, anxiety stirs in the pit of his stomach as he thinks about how to word what he’s going to say next.

“Hey, Den?”

“Yeah?”

He swallows, tapping his nails on the table. “How are you feeling?”

There’s a beat before Dennis answers, his tone clipped. “What do you mean?”

Mac shifts in his seat. He imagines how he would burn and shrink under his gaze if Dennis were here right now.

“Your… _episodes_ …” He tries, tongue tripping over the words. “The anger…” He remembers how a mist would overcome Dennis sometimes. His face would go frighteningly blank, like the lights were on but no-one was home. “The dissociation…” He trips over how to say that word, the one he’s read online, “How has that been?”

When Dennis replies, his voice is cold. Any sign of momentary warmth, of kindness, is long gone now.

“I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

“You’re happy?” Mac asks – and really, that’s all he wants.

He pauses. He’s never wanted that for anyone, never cared, and the realisation floors him. He wants him to be happy and warm and safe, more than he wants it for himself.

“Sure.” Dennis says too quickly. “I mean, yeah, Mandy’s kind of boring and annoying and Brian Jr. doesn’t really do anything, but that’s fine. I have to pay for my drinks now which is just ridiculous and North Dakota is still a goddamn shit hole and I’m not making any money and yeah, okay, I’m miserable but that’s what being a Dad is.”

Mac listens to him ramble, sadness pooling in the pit of his stomach.

“Do you love them?” He asks - because how could he? Mandy might have him now, but does she really _know_ him? Does she know what foundation he wears, or that he wears it at all? Does she know how he organises his tapes or the way his mouth tips up more on the right than the left when he smiles or the way his voice gets all hollow when he talks about his parents?

The little things that make him _him,_ Mandy doesn’t know, can’t know.

“I don’t love Mandy.” Dennis replies like that one’s easy. “I find her bearable, but she’s far beneath me.”

Mac rolls his eyes to the sky.

“And Brian Jr.?”

He falters but Mac hears his answer in his silence, even if Dennis doesn’t.

“I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I don’t know, Mac!” He says sharply, “Why are you asking me this? Are you trying to piss me off? I’m not coming home, okay? Accept it. Goddamn it, stop being such a pussy.”

“Okay, Dennis.” Mac tries to calm him down, imagining the way his hands are probably curling into fists and how he’s probably clenching his jaw so tight a muscle near his left ear will be ticking. “I’m sorry, dude. Forget I said anything.”

“I have to go.”

Mac’s stomach drops and it feels like there’s a vice around his heart, squeezing tight.

“I really am sorry, man. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Dennis snorts unattractively, all false bravado. “Please. Like I give enough of a shit about you for you to upset me. I just – I need to put Brian to bed and I’m in a shit mood now. Which is _obviously_ all your fault.”

“I’m sorry.” Mac whispers again because he is and it’s all he can think to say.

There’s a pause before Dennis sighs.

“It’s fine.” His voice is curt but softer than before. “Happy Birthday, Mac.”

Mac’s face breaks out into a winning smile – because he’s always been a slave to his affection and this is as natural as breathing to him.

“Thanks, dude. I—”

He’s cut off by the rude beep of the dial tone.  

That night as he lay in bed, he closes his eyes and blinks against the tears as he thinks of Dennis.

It’s his name he prays to, instead of God.

 

  

The third time Mac calls Dennis, he’s a dangerous combination of drunk and horny.

It's 2am and he's in bed, his mind swimming from a dozen tequila shots on an empty stomach. There's a thin layer of sweat on his skin and a tingling sensation running all over. He bites his bottom lip, looking over to the nightstand where his phone lays, taunting him.  He considers how it's a bad idea - he's drunk and horny and it's 2am and Dennis never seems happy to hear from him anyway. But he's never been one for self control.

He hesitates for only a second, and then punches the number in off by heart.

It rings for longer than usual and he's about to give up when Dennis' voice echoes through the receiver. 

"Mac..." He says his name without its usual malice and Mac notices he's slurring slightly. 

"You drunk, dude?" He asks, mouth curving into a smirk.

"Yeah."

"Me too."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Dennis breathes through his nose, heavy into the phone. "I like being drunk. Don't you?"

Mac nods happily, frantically, his eyes falling shut. It takes him a moment to realise Dennis can't see him and he's going to have to use his words. 

"Yeah, man." He articulates sloppily. "Being drunk is the best."

"Were you drinking with Charlie and Dee?" Dennis asks quietly, though the answer is obvious.

"Yeah."

"What were they drinking?"

Mac's brow rises to his hairline. What a strange question. Then the realisation hits him - he wants to know about them. He wants to know what they're up to and if they're happy, but he doesn't know how to ask. 

"Dee was drinking beer, as usual. Unsophisticated bitch." He rolls his eyes. "Charlie was drinking anything and everything. I don't think he cares anymore. I think his tastebuds have just been shot to shit from all the bleach and paint."

Dennis' laugh is low and husky in his ear. It causes a strange stirring in the pit of his belly, a kind of liquid heat, and he holds his breath.

"Charlie's a freak."

"That's an understatement." Mac snorts. "Who were you drinking with?"

His question seems to suck all the humour from the situation.

"No-one. I'm alone."

That makes Mac frown.

"Where's Mandy?" He asks and he's damn proud of himself for remembering the right name this time.

"She took Brian Jr. to see her parents this weekend."

"Oh okay..." In his drunken state, Mac struggles to sort through the haze in his brain to find something to say. "Things still going okay?"

"Things are fine." Dennis replies in that clipped tone.

"But they could be more better?"

" _Better_ , Mac." He corrects. "Not more better." 

Mac dismissively waves the hand that's not holding his phone to his ear. "Do you ever drink with her?"

"Not really. I told you, she's boring as shit." Dennis slurs unapologetically. "She has like 2 gin and tonics and thinks that's a buzz. Goddamn, I hate gin."

"Gin's a disgusting, old-timey drink." Mac nods, remembering what Dennis had said when Dee had taken them to that weird bar without a sign that time. Blood turned to alcohol and giving him a confidence he wouldn't normally have, he thinks of another question and smirks deviously. "Have you fucked her?"

"Mac, that is _unspeakably_ inappropriate." Dennis sniffs drunkenly. "And none of your business, may I add."

"Yeah. Answer it anyway."

He hears Dennis click his tongue. "Alright, if you must know... I did bang her a few times, at the beginning. Why not, right? But then she got all clingy and shit, wanting to be a  _real family._ " He snorts the words like he can't think of anything more ridiculous. 

"Ha, chicks are the worst."

"Yeah, I know you feel that way."

Something stirs inside him and the air seems to suck out of the room. Without even realising it, his hand is travelling to his bare stomach, his fingers running absentmindedly over the taut skin.

"Was it good?" He asks quietly, his mouth working without his permission. 

Dennis stills. "What?"

The alcohol makes him bold, his skin exploding into heat.

"When you fucked her... was it good? How did you do it?"

"How did I...?" Dennis stutters for a moment and having one up on him, even momentarily, just makes Mac hotter. "What are you talking about, man? Do you miss my tapes or something?"

He's joking, but he's right. He does. Mac admits it with an easy "yeah". 

"You do? You really want to know about me and Mandy?" Dennis sounds incredulous but there's a slight hitch in his voice. Mac smirks slightly, reading him like a book. He might pretend to be resistant, but Dennis is a freak deep down. A sexual deviant, if he's ever seen one. He knows exactly what to say to get him off; all he has to do is persuade him to talk about himself. 

"Yeah." Mac says again, breath quickening. 

Suddenly it's silent and the atmosphere feels heavy, intense. 

A tingle starts in the tip of his toes, erupting into a fire that scorches through his veins. His cock stirs to life, uninhibited by the alcohol, and his fingers itch.

"Alright..." Dennis is done with the pleasantries, flicking the switch and slipping into long-distance seduction mode. "Well, I banged her three times. First, just the normal, boring missionary route. Second, I bent her over the kitchen table and fucked her from behind. The last time, she rode me and came all over my dick. I thought she'd be loose, ya know? After pushing a baby out of there. But she was tight and wet and it was enough to get me off, at least."

He clears his throat towards the end of his speech, as though his drunken haze has lifted and he's just realised what he said. Mac can tell he's going to retreat into himself, hide behind cruelty and coldness, but he's too turned on to care.

His hand is slipping under the waistband of his pants and as he grips the phone tighter, he also grips his cock, giving it two steady pumps.

He figures he's going to have to take the lead. This is unchartered territory for the both of them, but at least he's had decades to come to terms with who he is. He's secure in his sexuality now, while any homoerotic desire on Dennis' end is still firmly repressed, masked by self-loathing and hatred and denial. 

In their teens, Dennis had oozed sexuality - a kind of quiet confidence - while Mac had been buried under the weight of Catholic guilt. It's ironic, really, how the tables have turned. 

So he'll take charge, take control. That's fine, because he wants this enough for the both of them; he's always wanted it.

"Why did you stop?"

"Didn't want it anymore." 

Mac bites his bottom lip. "What  _do_ you want?"

"I don't know..." Dennis admits, before pausing. "Are you touching yourself?"

"Yeah." Mac whispers, grasping himself tighter. It's been a while for him and he's so hard it's almost painful, but he doesn't want to talk about Mandy anymore. "I'm thinking about our time in the suburbs."

" _Mac_." Dennis' voice is a warning this time, his tone hardened.

"I know, I know we promised not to talk about it. But I think about it sometimes, man. A lot actually."

"Well, don't." He says harshly.

He closes his eyes, the memories pushing past the drunken haze in his mind to flash before his eyes. He thinks of warm summer nights, away from the bar and the gang and stupid judgement. He thinks of slipping into Dennis' bed, brought together by a noisy pool pump and the chirp of a smoke detector low on batteries. He thinks of their breaths dancing together in the darkness, in the small gap between them. He thinks of how he'd kissed him and how he'd let him and then he can't think of anything at all. 

"You remember, Dennis?" He slurs softly, undeterred by his tone. 

"Yeah, Mac." Dennis sighs, resigned. "I remember."

"We were good, right?" He asks, sadness and a million other emotions that he can't even begin to decipher coursing through his blood. "Before North Dakota, before everything. We were  _good._ We could get back there, Den."

"No, we can't. Things are different now."

"They were pretty great though, weren't they?" He murmurs lowly, remembering the taste of his mouth, the ghost of his hands. "You said you remember. You remember how I rolled you onto your back, kissed my way down your neck and chest - you were much more bigger back then - and let you fuck my mouth. You gripped my hair so tight and made all these little noises. It got me so fucking hot, dude, you have no idea... you still with me here?"

"Yes. I'm still here." Dennis manages to say crisply, probably trying to sound business-like and unaffected. 

"Yeah, that's what you'd say if you were here, and in that prissy voice too. I'd pull your shirt up and wrap it around your wrists, over your head. Then I'd pop your jeans open and pull the zipper down, so slow you'd be snapping at me to hurry up." His voice grows rough before he swallows and says, "Then I'd peel them and your boxers off you."

At the back of his mind, Mac registers that it's a pretty good cross country connection. He can practically feel Dennis' hot breath in his ear. 

His thumb swipes over the sensitive head of his cock, gathering the pre-cum that's settled there. He hisses through the pleasure, hand turning into a fist again, and in the back of his mind, he registers Dennis making the same sound.

"Touch yourself." He demands, sounding more like  _him_ than himself.  

Dennis makes a sound Mac's never heard before, all low and guttural and desperate, and now  _he_ sounds like  _him._ He doesn't speak, probably can't, but Mac doesn't mind. Just the sound of his breath is hopelessly erotic and whether it's the alcohol in his blood or something else, it doesn't matter. He carries on.

"I'll know exactly what you want before you want it. I'll know and I'll do it. And I'll do all the things you're half praying I won't. And you'll be mine, completely mine. You'll let me kiss you and I know how you hate that, so I'll let you fuck me in return. I want you to. You have no idea how much."

"Mac..." Dennis' breath hitches; he says his name like he doesn't know what he's begging for. 

"I'll be on my back, though. I'll jerk myself off at the same time while you hit the perfect spot inside me. I want to be on my back because I want to see your face. I have to see your face. You're so pretty, Dennis. You're so pretty when you come."

Dennis curses under his breath and the sound is dark, strained. 

"I miss you so much." Mac whispers, furiously biting his bottom lip when he feels it tremble. 

"Shut up." Dennis snaps harshly before releasing a sigh. "Just—just keep talking."

 _Shut up but keep talking,_ it makes no sense, yet Mac knows exactly what he means.

"Okay... right, so I'm on my back and you're so deep inside me because you know I can take it. And even if it's too much, I can't do anything about it because my hands are all tied up now—Christ Den, I'm so close." 

"Me too." Dennis replies quietly, his breath rough and fast.

"Yeah? I want you to come inside me, baby. Want you to fill me up. Or maybe it wouldn't even be me restrained. Maybe it would be _you_ on your back."

He switches the tables on him because he's tired of always being his property, the victim of his twisted mind games. Maybe he wants to have control for once, wants to take some of that strength for himself. 

Maybe, deep down, Dennis wants it too because he makes the hottest sound Mac's ever heard. His breath burns through the phone, shooting straight to his groin, stealing his breath. As he fucks his fist faster and approaches the edge, it's Dennis' groan that pushes him over. It's long and deep, almost animal... utterly male and completely Dennis. Mac chokes on a moan, spilling hot and sticky and wet in his hand. 

Silence stills them. The air feels heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid. Mac tries to steady the butterfly stutter of his heartbeat, irrationally worried that somehow Dennis can hear it pounding against his ribcage, and waits. 

" _Shit_." He hears Dennis curse eventually, a mutter under his breath. 

"Did you co—" 

"Shut up, Mac." Dennis snaps and his voice is colder than he's heard it in years. "Goddamn it, will you just... shut the fuck up."

His tone makes the area behind Mac's temples and nose prickle and he furiously blinks back hot tears. He lets the chill spread over him, a protective layer, as the embarrassment and shame that he had been holding off suddenly sucks the breath from his lungs. 

He opens his mouth to say something, to try and diffuse some of the tension and save them, but Dennis' impenetrable walls are back up around him.

"Goodbye, Mac." He says, cold and final. Then he hangs up, leaving Mac confused and devastated and wondering why he didn't say  _goodnight_ instead. 

He glances down at the mess on his stomach and decides to shower.

He could just wash, just wipe it off, but he stands under the warm stream instead. 

That way, he can watch the water swirl down the drain until it's like he's not crying at all.

 

  
 

The fourth time Mac calls Dennis, he doesn’t answer.

The silence is deafening.

He runs to the bathroom to empty the contents of his stomach.

 

  

The fifth time Mac calls Dennis, he knows he has to let him go.

It's a weird twist of fate that  _Dee_ _'s_ the one who makes him realise it. 

She finds him in the back office one day, twirling a pencil and staring at a blank computer screen. It doesn't take her long to break down his walls, coming to stand in-front of him, between his legs, smirking and looking too much like her brother. 

Alcohol, and perhaps pure apathy, had loosened his tongue and he'd told her everything. All the internalised hatred, the tears he could never bring himself to cry, the secret (though it turns out, not so secret) feelings that he'd harboured all his life... he gave to her. 

In a rare moment of kindness, softness, Dee had leant down and touched her fingertips to his wet cheek.

"I know my brother better than anyone." She had said, firmly in possession of a part of Dennis that he couldn't touch. "And he'll break your heart like everyone else's."

Mac had swallowed past the lump in his throat, nodding at her sad smile. He had realised, then, how much power Dennis had over all of them. Even thousands of miles away, he was the puppet master, pulling all their strings. 

 _Dennis,_ he realised, was the broken one, not him.

He has to let him go. He's not a teenager any more, not scared or confused or insecure. Dennis has moulded him and shaped him for decades, but he knows who he is now, outside of the person he always demanded he be. 

Mac has loved him with everything he has, every day of his life. He’s flawed and hopeless and only half of himself without him. So, it has to end.

He doesn’t want to be like this, broken and stuck in reverse, so afraid of changing because he’s built his life around him. 

Dennis will never belong to Mac, the way Mac belongs to him. Even if he came back, came home, they would only ever be friends. There will never be anyone else for him, so Mac would live for that friendship. And that's just... not right, not fair. 

The realisation makes him strong and that night, he tries to ring him again. 

He's almost surprised when he answers.

"Hey." His voice is strong and calm, like he's had time to come to terms with what happened a few weeks ago.

"Hi Dennis."

Dennis' breath is steady through the phone, always in control, the complete opposite of Mac and his racing heart. 

"How are you?"

Mac fights the urge to wince. Here they are, exchanging polite pleasantries like they're strangers—like they haven't seen every part of each other, inside and out, hundreds of times. If they start talking about the weather, Mac thinks he might just fucking shoot himself.

"I'm fine. I saw your calls, I just... I've been really busy." It's the closest thing he'll get to an apology and Mac accepts it with a defeatist sigh.

"Look, dude..." He figures the best way to handle this is to just rip the bandaid off, "I think we need to talk."

"You breaking up with me?" Dennis says and Mac can just see his smirk.

He laughs, but there's no humour in it. "I've just had some time to think — about my life, about the things I want from it. And I, uh, I think I need to let you go."

There's a beat.

"Let me go?" Dennis asks, voice even.

Mac swallows past the lump in his throat.

"It's no-one's fault, man. I've just changed. You've changed. You said it yourself, we're not 25 anymore. We can't keep doing the same shit over and over."

"I haven't changed." Dennis sniffs, defensive and conceited, even though he's said the words himself before. "If you don't want to talk to me anymore, that's fine. Great, even. I'm doing just fine without you. I'm sure I'll live without annoying as shit phone calls from my drunk ex-roommate at 4am."

His words are acerbic, cutting like ice. Though Mac can see right through him, knows him better than he knows himself, it still hurts. It's funny, how people think Dennis has no feelings, when his are the strongest of all. He's built this ridiculous God-complex, an armour to shield himself from the real world. He pushes people away before they can leave him first. It's a defensive mechanism and not a very original one.

"Good, I never wanted this either." He feels the need to say. "I never wanted to be tied to you, just like you don't want me now."

He inhales, a fist gripping his heart. He tells himself to get a grip, harshly reprimanding himself with every breath he takes. 

"Just let me get this out, dude. Please." He speaks again before Dennis can reply. He waits for a beat, to check he isn't going to be interrupted, before he continues with a heavy sigh. "There's not a single person who's ever met me who hasn't known what you mean to me. I've built my life around you. It's always been me. Not Dee, not Frank or Charlie, not Mandy— _me_. I've been there through everything, and I don't think you even care."

Dennis scoffs incredulously.

"Christ, Mac. I've kept you around all these years, haven't I?" 

Mac sighs, a small shake in his head. It's not good enough. He's not getting it. He knows what he has to say, has known it all along.

He takes an unsteady breath and rips the bandaid off. 

“Dennis, I love you. I’m in love with you. I think I always have been.”

He holds his breath, barely able to believe he’s finally said the words out loud. It feels like his heart is folding – in half, in half again, until he feels only pain.

He listens to his pulse pounding in his ears as he waits for Dennis’ response. He waits and waits – for a sneer… a cold and cruel comment… a harsh laugh bitten out like a bullet from a gun and just as painful.

Instead, he hears a sigh – heavy and resigned through the receiver.

“I know.”

Those two words, clear and simple, cause tears to spring to the surface of his eyes. He blinks them back, a sob catching in his throat. 

"Right." His reply is curt, emotionless. It doesn't matter anymore. Dennis has taken everything he has and there's simply nothing left. "So you know that I can't do this anymore. I just... I have to walk away from this, man."

"Look, Mac..." Dennis' sigh is exasperated. "If this is about the other month, I... it didn't mean anything. We just indulged in a little fantasy, that's all. There's no need to be a pussy about it."

"I am _not_ being a pussy. Jesus, you still don't get it, do you?" He narrows his dark eyes, his grip tightening around the phone. "Shit, that wasn't even what I wanted, wasn't even my fantasy."

"What are you talking about?"

"You want to know what my fantasy is, Dennis?" He barks out a humourless laugh and carries on before Dennis can interrupt him. "It's not tying you up or you tying me up. It's not duct tape or leather or zip ties. Nothing so simple. It's you... instigating. You wanting me. You kissing me. That's what I want."

It's obvious Dennis doesn't know what to say and a perverse part of Mac is happy he's finally shut him up.

Eventually, he just hides behind cold stoicism and references the phone sex again, like it means everything, when it means nothing.

"You won't last ten minutes without trying it again."

"I've lasted ten years." Mac says, more to himself, and he runs a tired hand over his face. He sighs and then he takes a breath—and then he hangs up.

He waits for a solid minute before he lets the tears fall. 

If that was the right thing to do, it sure as hell doesn't feel like it.

 

 

The first time Dennis calls Mac, it's exactly a year after he left for North Dakota.

Mac does a double take when he sees his name flash across the screen. He blinks back the confusion and it almost stops ringing but he picks it up in time, unable to quell his curiosity. 

"Dennis? Are you okay?"

There's no answer on the other end and the pit of Mac's stomach falls through.

"Den? Come on, you're freaking me out."

"Sorry." Dennis grumbles finally and the word is shaky. Mac's brow furrows, worried that he's in the midst of an episode. He forgets that he's supposed to be letting him go, forgets how well he's been doing in that endeavour for the past few months. But none of it matters anymore. He's blinded by white, pushed down by black; there's only Dennis.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Dennis replies quickly, tone bordering on manic. "Everything. Mac, I don't know what I'm doing."

Mac stills, slowly lowering himself to the couch. "What do you mean?"

"I don't belong here." Dennis admits finally and Mac swears he hears his voice break. "I'm miserable. The mood swings are getting worse. Sometimes I just—I get so  _mad_. I can't tell what's real anymore. I don't know who I am." 

Mac's never heard him like this—panicked and unsure and  _scared._

"I do." He tries to soothe him. "You're Dennis. You're smart and weird and the best friend I've ever had. I'm here, okay? Even if you forget who you are, I never will." 

"You went away." Dennis says quietly. "You were gone." 

 _You didn't want me either,_  his tone seems to say.

Mac sighs, anxiously tapping his index finger on his thigh.

"I had to, you know that."

"Mandy doesn't see me. She doesn't know me."

Mac swallows, exhaling on a sigh. "She doesn't?"

"Of course she doesn't." Dennis says. "Who else has ever seen me but you?"  

Mac's not sure why he's being so generous with his feelings - whether it's alcohol or drugs or a manic episode. All he knows is that it's true. He's cold and cruel and shut off, but Mac sees everything he doesn't want him to see. 

Things change and people come and go, but they remain. Their constants - their one, unwavering truth. 

"Mac?"

His name brings him back to reality. "Yeah?"

"Do you love me?"

The question floors him. He sighs heavily, his cheeks blossoming into heat. "Of course I love you, dude. I always have."

"No, but..." Dennis pauses for a moment and Mac hears him shift. "Are you still... _in_ love with me?"

Tiny shards of pain stab at Mac's heart like glass; it feels like he's dragging them in with every breath. 

"Yes." He admits after a beat. "I've never loved anyone the way I love you."

"Okay." Dennis says simply and his tone is strange, indecipherable. "Mac?"

"Yeah?"

Mac holds his breath. With Dennis' next words, his world - upside down and out of focus since the day he left - finally slots into place. 

"I'm coming home."


End file.
